Out of Sight
Want to know what's funny?
The US Marshals showed up at my house. Seriously, they surrounded the building with guns and stuff and then they asked to get let in. They aparently thought my roomates and I might make a run for it or try to stop them from entering the apartment. I don't know about you, but I tend to let the US Marshals do whatever they please when they say they need to see my room.
The best part is, they've been here before. The warrant police have also made their appearance, their rendevous with my abode was at 4:14 am in the Winkin-Blinkin and Nod hours of a wednesday morning. They don't schedule ahead, too much planning for the warrant unit, they prefer to drop by and promise to break the door down if you don't open up. The regular old police have been here half a dozen times, but that barely registers as exciting anymore.
Why, a random person might be inclined to ask, would the US Marshals, the Warrant Unit, and the Police want to come into my home?
Ginger Bread.
That's right. You heard me: Ginger Bread. That is the clever alias of the former downstairs neighbor and blight on humanity step-son of my landlord. I'll refrain from using his real name, lest the Police spy on me and think I am covertly supporting his efforts against the law or the perp himself finds out I'm writing about him and comes to kill me in the night. Which he very well might be capable of doing. Which he very well might have already done. I'm not really sure.
Because the other fun part about this crazy game we call low-rent housing is that my roomates and I have no idea what Ginger Bread is wanted for. No one wants to tell us, not the Police, not the landlord, and certainly not the Bread himself. We have no earthly clue what crime was committed to incur such attention. Though with each successive attempt at his capture we can only increase our suspicions as to its severity. I guess the Police won't talk to us because they don't want to jeopordize their investigation. Though, at this point if our house is their only lead, the investigation can't be going spectacularly. Ginger hasn't been here in 6 months as far as I know, not since he, his girlfriend and their three kids who aparently don't go to school, stopped selling their belongings on the stoop in front of our house. Also, none of the law enforcement groups seem to be communicating with each other. Every time some new team comes they ask us the same questions and are suprised every time:
He's not here?
You don't know where he is?
Are you sure?
Really sure?
Like, really really, super-plus good, sure?
The landlord is certainly in no hurry to relate any info to us. Which I suppose is understandable given that his other stepson set up an actual crack den in our house and was captured through the efforts of the honest-to-god SWAT team. This amusing bit of our house's history was related to us by our neighbors after we moved in and not by Lord de Slum himself. When I called him post the 4am sting to say, "Hey...Guess what funny little thing happened to me today?", he responded as if the phone were bugged. I was told that he had thought "things" were "taken care of" and he was sure we wouldn't need to "talk to anyone about you know... recent events". His step son was in New Jersy but we shouldn't need to tell that to anyone, he had hired a lawyer to work it all out, you see. When I explained that I hoped he understood how upsetting the incident was to myself and my roomates he simply replied, "Welcome to the big city kids."
All of which I of course related to the Marshals when they popped in for a chat the other day. Aparently, I looked annoyed while doing so. They asked for my feelings about G. B. and I said I rather didn't like him. To which one replied, "Why? Is it because he's Italian?" And I said, "No, it's more to do with the fact that you've just searched my house in an effort to arrest him and he still could have keys to the front door."
It's partly my own fault though. It's true that the police have reason to believe that I'm aiding and abetting Ginger's shady goings on because, and maybe I shouldn't be telling anyone this, I have his AAA card. You see, Ginger Bread being his clever alias and all, the former downstairs dweller would sign up for things as said spiced foodstuff and then get letters mailed to our address, which only has one mailbox. So one day when we got a letter for Ginger Bread from the American Auto Association I figured it must be a joke. So I opened the envelope and found one card made out to a Ginger Bread with my mailing address. Which of course I had to put up on my fridge. How can you not? It just fell in my lap.
And of course during the 4am raid the Warrant Unit saw this card and questioned us heavily as to what it might be doing magneted to our Frigidare. Which is probably why they persist in believing that he's hiding out here. Which sadly results in my life resembling one of the many 2 minute and 12 second sequences one sees on Law and Order. Damn my overdeveloped sense of sarcastic humor to hell.
The US Marshals showed up at my house. Seriously, they surrounded the building with guns and stuff and then they asked to get let in. They aparently thought my roomates and I might make a run for it or try to stop them from entering the apartment. I don't know about you, but I tend to let the US Marshals do whatever they please when they say they need to see my room.
The best part is, they've been here before. The warrant police have also made their appearance, their rendevous with my abode was at 4:14 am in the Winkin-Blinkin and Nod hours of a wednesday morning. They don't schedule ahead, too much planning for the warrant unit, they prefer to drop by and promise to break the door down if you don't open up. The regular old police have been here half a dozen times, but that barely registers as exciting anymore.
Why, a random person might be inclined to ask, would the US Marshals, the Warrant Unit, and the Police want to come into my home?
Ginger Bread.
That's right. You heard me: Ginger Bread. That is the clever alias of the former downstairs neighbor and blight on humanity step-son of my landlord. I'll refrain from using his real name, lest the Police spy on me and think I am covertly supporting his efforts against the law or the perp himself finds out I'm writing about him and comes to kill me in the night. Which he very well might be capable of doing. Which he very well might have already done. I'm not really sure.
Because the other fun part about this crazy game we call low-rent housing is that my roomates and I have no idea what Ginger Bread is wanted for. No one wants to tell us, not the Police, not the landlord, and certainly not the Bread himself. We have no earthly clue what crime was committed to incur such attention. Though with each successive attempt at his capture we can only increase our suspicions as to its severity. I guess the Police won't talk to us because they don't want to jeopordize their investigation. Though, at this point if our house is their only lead, the investigation can't be going spectacularly. Ginger hasn't been here in 6 months as far as I know, not since he, his girlfriend and their three kids who aparently don't go to school, stopped selling their belongings on the stoop in front of our house. Also, none of the law enforcement groups seem to be communicating with each other. Every time some new team comes they ask us the same questions and are suprised every time:
He's not here?
You don't know where he is?
Are you sure?
Really sure?
Like, really really, super-plus good, sure?
The landlord is certainly in no hurry to relate any info to us. Which I suppose is understandable given that his other stepson set up an actual crack den in our house and was captured through the efforts of the honest-to-god SWAT team. This amusing bit of our house's history was related to us by our neighbors after we moved in and not by Lord de Slum himself. When I called him post the 4am sting to say, "Hey...Guess what funny little thing happened to me today?", he responded as if the phone were bugged. I was told that he had thought "things" were "taken care of" and he was sure we wouldn't need to "talk to anyone about you know... recent events". His step son was in New Jersy but we shouldn't need to tell that to anyone, he had hired a lawyer to work it all out, you see. When I explained that I hoped he understood how upsetting the incident was to myself and my roomates he simply replied, "Welcome to the big city kids."
All of which I of course related to the Marshals when they popped in for a chat the other day. Aparently, I looked annoyed while doing so. They asked for my feelings about G. B. and I said I rather didn't like him. To which one replied, "Why? Is it because he's Italian?" And I said, "No, it's more to do with the fact that you've just searched my house in an effort to arrest him and he still could have keys to the front door."
It's partly my own fault though. It's true that the police have reason to believe that I'm aiding and abetting Ginger's shady goings on because, and maybe I shouldn't be telling anyone this, I have his AAA card. You see, Ginger Bread being his clever alias and all, the former downstairs dweller would sign up for things as said spiced foodstuff and then get letters mailed to our address, which only has one mailbox. So one day when we got a letter for Ginger Bread from the American Auto Association I figured it must be a joke. So I opened the envelope and found one card made out to a Ginger Bread with my mailing address. Which of course I had to put up on my fridge. How can you not? It just fell in my lap.
And of course during the 4am raid the Warrant Unit saw this card and questioned us heavily as to what it might be doing magneted to our Frigidare. Which is probably why they persist in believing that he's hiding out here. Which sadly results in my life resembling one of the many 2 minute and 12 second sequences one sees on Law and Order. Damn my overdeveloped sense of sarcastic humor to hell.
posted by A at 5:02 PM
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